


your body is the altar at which i choose to pray

by RavenWhitecastle



Series: The Sinner and the Saint [17]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Post-War, Praise Kink, References to Canon, Romantic Fluff, Scars, Short, Short & Sweet, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Cuddles, Sleepy Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:24:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14758265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenWhitecastle/pseuds/RavenWhitecastle
Summary: Harold loves every part of John. Even the parts that John thinks aren't all that pretty.-Events the morning after the night referred to in "i need you so much closer." Immediately follows John and Harold spending the night together after their declarations of love!





	your body is the altar at which i choose to pray

John and Harold lay in the soft morning glow after spending the night together. Usually, John woke up first, but that Sunday, Harold opened his eyes to see John dozing quietly, his face half-buried in his pillow.

Harold propped himself up, looking over John’s bare and finely muscled back. His shoulders curved elegantly, and his waist dipped so beautifully above his hips, which were peeking out from under the covers. But across the landscape of John’s skin were scattered scars and memories, ghosts of all his battles. Absentmindedly, Harold began to trace them, connecting them like a road map of John’s life.

After a few moments of Harold’s fingers brushing over his back, John’s eyes fluttered halfway open. He saw Harold smiling tenderly at him. “Mornin’,” John said, muffled by the pillow.

Harold’s smile widened. “Good morning.”

“What’re you doin’?”

“Counting your scars,” Harold answered, his smile fading. He recognized many of the them, for many of them he had stitched up and tended to himself. But there were many that were old and faded from John’s past.

There was a jagged line down John’s right shoulder. Harold traced it and asked, “How did you get this?”

It seemed like John barely had to think before he answered, “Knife wound on the job. Our mark made us and jumped me in an alley.”

Harold leaned down and pressed his lips to the top of the line before he let his hand wander down to a constellation of scars. “What about these ones?”

“Shrapnel from a land mine in Takrit.”

Harold peppered the small patch of skin with kisses before his fingers found a rough patch of skin over John’s ribs. “And this one?”

John rolled over onto his back and his fingers caught Harold’s over the scar. “That’s where Stanton shot me in Ordos. We’d been miles from civilization. I cauterized it with a flare and stumbled to the highway.”

Harold kissed that scar for a long time, eyes closed in reverence, before working his way up over all the bullet holes John had collected over the years. Some bigger than others, some hollowpoint, some buckshot, and all beautiful to Harold. Because to Harold, they were all a testament to John’s bravery, a testament to the strength of the man he loved.

After an eternity of whispered praise, Harold captured John’s lips with his own. He teased a little, making the soldier moan in want. Harold planned to leave a different kind of marking all over his beloved.


End file.
